HETALIA SHUFFLE DRABBLES
by xxMusicalMime
Summary: A series of drabbles that centers around one random song from an mp3 player. It will revolve around one pairing each song. Indulge yourself in oneshots that'll make you go "d'aaaaaw". Rated T for sexual content in the future.
1. USUK: Laughter

**A/N: sorry I've been so inactive and irresponsible of previous stories, but I'm currently stressed out and uber sick ;_; So here're some drabbles for you. They are centered on one pairing and the plot revolves around a random song my mp3 player decides to spew out. **

**Enjoy~**

**DISCLAIMER: HETALIA AND ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO HIMARUYA HIDEKAZ.  
**

**Absolutely (Story of A Girl) is a song sung by Nine Days.**

******HARRY POTTER BELONGS TO JK ROWLING**

**I do not own anything except my mp3 player and the alteration of the plots OTL  
**

* * *

**LAUGHTER**

_Song: Absolutely (Story of A Girl) - Nine Days_**  
**

Alfred F. Jones always singled Arthur Kirkland out from the crowd.

It was never on purpose, though. The British just caught his eye. At football practice, Arthur was on the bleachers, all by himself, reading a battered copy of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix _with the hood of his sweater upon his head. On normal school days, Arthur would always be invisible to the other kids, being pushed into lockers as he passed by, being badly bruised on the shoulder as a jock purposefully bumped him.

Alfred had never been this conscious of another's presence before. Nor has it ever bugged him. But ever since he started to see him, he got restless every morning to go to school.

Alfred wanted to talk to Arthur, but when he was a few feet away, the Brit would look at him with those shining emerald eyes – full of fear – and then he would sharply turn away to disappear into crowds. No matter how hard Alfred wanted to talk to him, he never gave in. The American never gave up, either.

One day, Arthur didn't show up at school.

Alfred took note of his absence, and his worry increased as several days go by with no sign of the Brit.

After a week of worrying, Arthur Kirkland returned, but he was never quite the same.

He had bruises on his shoulders, bandages running up both his arms. He tried to hide it as best as he could, but whenever Alfred got close enough he could see the inky purple blots ravaging Arthur's otherwise flawless skin. The bandages Arthur tried to hide inside one of his usual oversized sweaters, but whenever he moved a flash of white could always be seen underneath. And all throughout the following week, he walked with a limp.

All this was noticed by only Alfred Jones.

Several days afterwards, it was already semester break. Alfred said goodbye to his team and purposefully went to an almost deserted corridor where Arthur was having trouble taking out all his textbooks (as well as his other book series)from his locker. Alfred caught his weight before the Brit stumbled weakly to the ground with a jolly "Whoopsy-daisy!"

Arthur looked up at him through thin rectangular glasses, alarmed. "G-Get off me!" He squeaked, getting up instantly and wincing as he put force on his injured leg.

"Hi,I'm Alfred!" The American introduced, smiling. He pointed to the locker and said, "You really like reading, huh?"

"It's my refuge from this crazy world, Alfred," Arthur answered curtly, yanking his beloved hardbounds back. "Thank you for helping me. Although I noticed you veering here to this dead-end corridor with only me as the inhabitant. Did you need something?"

"Yeah, I need answers." As the Brit raised an eyebrow, Alfred continued. "Where were you these past few days?"

At this, Arthur grew suddenly cold and banged the locker closed. He stalked off with as much dignity as he could muster. "Life's got ups and downs, Alfred. But I don't think you'd be interested to know mine."

"Hey, wait up!" Alfred yelled after him, tripping over a battered book that had fallen from the locker. Alfred's jaw collided with the marble floor with a loud thud, and he cursed, angrily stroking his sore jaw.

Then there was a tinkling laugh.

Alfred looked up to see Arthur doubled over, leaning on the wall and gasping for air as he continued laughing. It was the most melodious sound Alfred had heard. Once Arthur stopped giggling, he picked up the reason of his tripping.

"_The Order of the Phoenix,"_ he mustered, dusting off the faded blue cover. "This was the only book from the Harry Potter series that my Mum allowed me to bring from England when we moved here. It's a treasure to me, no matter how battered it becomes."

Alfred stood up and heaped all Arthur's books into his muscular arms. "Where to?"

"What?"

"I can't just have you carrying all these by yourself!"

Arthur flushed and pointed to a street nearby, and Alfred shrugged as he stepped into place with Arthur.

"You know," the American muttered. "I noticed, you try to drown the world out."

Arthur nodded. "With my history, you'd be a nutter not to."

"But," Alfred cut in, smiling. The sunset reflected on his glasses and his blue eyes twinkled with a golden sheen. "I love your laugh. It's so carefree and jovial. You should smile more. You look much more pleasant than being the grouch."

Arthur scowled, but afterwards, he just laughed again, satisfying the needs of Alfred Jones.


	2. GERITA: Of Bratwurst and Pasta

**A/N: Since I'm sick and have nothing to do OTL Might as well update.**

**This is GERITA, all right?  
**

**Please no flaming or hate for the pairings.  
**

**If you don't like the pairings, then please.  
**

**G.T.F.O.**

**Even if some pairings I don't like, I make a drabble of them for it to be fair.  
**

**If you no rikey, be my guest and get out.  
**

**Kay? Kay.**

**"SORRY NA" is a song sung by a Filipino band, "Parokya ni Edgar".  
**

**ANYTHING ELSE STILL ISN'T MINE EXCEPT THE ALTERATION OF THE PLOT.  
**

**P.S. I'm not very sure about the words "basta" and "amore" since I only used google translate ((because I'm hopeless in foreign languages like that (except for English and Mandarin))).**

* * *

**OF BRATWURST AND PASTA**

_Song: Sorry Na - Parokya Ni Edgar_**  
**

Feliciano Vargas' body shook as he wailed, pushing mountains of furniture against the door as a certain German pounded after him.

"Feli! W-wait!" Ludwig knocked on the door again, his fists stinging as they rebounded on the door. He hiccupped, the beer not really making his mind any clearer, nor the situation any better. But he kept his drunkenness at bay.

"I didn't mean to yell – "

"_Basta!" _the shrill voice of the terrified Italian rang across the door, and sniffles followed. "Enough, Ludwig! I-I've had enough!"

"Feli – "

"No! You have to listen!" Feliciano went silent for a few minutes, then his voice could be heard again, wavering only for a bit. "Ludwig… Doitsu… I don't really know… do you even love me?... Every night you get drunk in a nearby bar with your brother, Gilbert, and I respect that, but…" He started crying softly. "Whenever you get back, no matter how late it is, no matter how early I should wake up the following morning… I wait for you by the porch until you came home. Even if it made you angry, I always cook you pasta and ready a handful of aspirins for tomorrow morning. And what do I get in return?" His voice raised into a strangled shout. "You come home and abuse me! Maybe not physically, but you abuse my feelings, Doitsu! I don't know this Doitsu… I want the old Doitsu back…"

Ludwig slid down on the floor and sat there for fifteen minutes, listening to the sobs of his beloved. Afterwards, he sighed. "It's my turn then," he answered, "So please listen. I'm.. I'm sorry if you got upset… I didn't mean to yell at you… Never did I want to upset you. Maybe it was because of my already short temper even shortened by alcohol." He shook his head. "Still, Feli. I can never atone for what I've done. Please, forgive me…"

There was a barricade of wooden silence between them, and Ludwig suddenly cried out.

"Please, don't leave me, Feliciano… I'm sorry. I can't possibly say anything more, but… I'm sorry. I truly am. I love you." He whispered through the cracks in the door. "I love you so much. Please, don't leave me alone. Don't disappear. You're my life. Don't… d-don't…" The German's composure broke and he started to plead incoherently as tears raced down his cheeks. After a bit, Ludwig had slumped back on the wall and had fallen asleep from physical and emotional exhaustion.

The next day, Ludwig woke up to a warm bed, his head heavy with a pounding headache. His blue eyes narrowed in pain and he stretched out an arm for the sleeping figure of his lover, but found only a note on his place. It read:

_Dear Doitsu,_

_Just went out for some ingredients. We'll have pasta and bratwurst for dinner tonight! Ve~_

_Oh! And you can find some aspirins on the table. 3  
_

_Love, Feli_

_P.S. Happy anniversary, amore 3_

The moment Feliciano Vargas reentered the house, arms full of shopping bags, Ludwig swept him into a kiss and murmured, "Ich liebe dich" into the Italian's ear. He smiled approvingly when he went through the bags and found no bottles of beer or even wine.

"I hope you don't mind," Feli muttered nervously, playing with his fingers nervously.

"I don't," He assured him, snaking an arm around the the Italian's waist and kissing him on the forehead. "Now, let's prepare a feast!"

"Veeee!~"


	3. SPAMANO: A Helping Hand

**A/N: Here's the third one :)  
**

**SPAMANO FOR YOU GUYS! 3**

**The song "What Will I Remember?" is by Emilie Autumn. If you don't know that, I suggest you check it out :D  
**

* * *

**A HELPING HAND  
**

_Song: What Will I Remember? – Emilie Autumn_

Lovino Vargas sat down on the banks of a river, chewing on a ripe tomato he had smuggled from a nearby farm. He had been stealing from farms as long as he can remember, but he always stole tomatoes from one and only one farm – that of Señor Carriedo. Lovino neither knew nor cared about who Carriedo really was; all he wanted was his tomatoes. In retrospect, he had been stealing about 10 tomatoes every week from the bastard, but Carriedo had never put up fences to discourage him further. He shrugged it off. Better not to question the gods.

_Gods._

He looked up at the bright blue sky that seemed to insult him. It was as if the clouds floating by were careening away from him in disgust. He could hear the voices of the past haunting him. Why were you even born? A brick wall's much more talented than you! Are you really the person who you claim to be? Why is your brother much better than you?

Why?

Why?

Why?!

He roared with anger and dived into the water. The icy cool freshwater refreshed him and his steaming mind, and it became a therapy for him. He always relaxed in water. No one judged him. No one bothered him. No one ridiculed him. In fact, no one paid attention to him. He grinned. This was what he wanted.

He was never seen him for himself. Never as a person who had different interests than art and housekeeping. No, he was much more imaginative than that. He wanted to make himself known to the world. Known as Lovino Vargas, and not as someone's impudent grandson. He would show the world what he was capable of, and everyone will know his name!

As he broke the surface of the water, his glowing passion was suddenly quenched. He knew that things weren't going to change, no matter how hard he tried. He would never be known as himself. He'd be the laughing stock of the world, the black sheep, the disabled fawn.

He laughed bitterly. Who was he to be remembered, anyway? He lied down on the banks of the river, letting the sun shine on his face. Who was he to think that the world would mourn if he disappeared? If he died, would the world even see the difference? He doubted anyone but his brother could see the difference, which made his spirits sink lower. He would always pretend that he was strong enough not to care about the people talking about him, but it always struck him. It always hurt. It always left a scar that never heals, even with time.

Maybe it was better for him to disappear. Yes, the world will be better without him. This time he was sure that he was the jinx of the world. In the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew and believed it was true, and it sent a painful pang to his chest.

He stifled a sob, and somebody jammed something round and soft into his mouth.

Sputtering, Lovino opened his dark brown eyes and choked, spewing out the red tomato that was pushed in his mouth.

"Eh?" an oddly familiar voice said. "You don't like tomatoes? I thought you loved them!"

He blinked the tears away and saw a man with dark brown mussy hair that blended well with his tanned skin. Odd thing was, however, his eyes were a shiny green, like leaves newly sprung in June.

"Who the heck are you?" he asked, drawing up his hostile attitude.

"Who am I? I'm the great Antonio Fernandez Carriedo!" He straightened up and flexed his muscles, which, Lovino admitted, were pretty impressive. "I'm disappointed, since I know you and you don't know me!"

"You know me?!" Lovino cautiously backed away. Not another one of those inheritance thieves.

"Yes. You're the one who's been stealing my tomatoes, are you not?"

Lovino felt his face flush and he looked away defiantly. "C-Chigi! I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Ohoho, don't mess with me!" The older man dragged Lovino off by the collar. "Don't think that if you're a Vargas then you're exempted from law, oh no! You've gotta work for me now, to pay for all those beautiful tomatoes!"

As Señor Carriedo ranted on, Lovino smirked a bit. He didn't care, really. As long as someone disregards his Vargas stature, then he will respect that man. And at last, he finally found one.


	4. FRUK: Saving You From Being Boring

**A/N: DONE ;_; I know it's not the best, but... ;_;**

* * *

**SAVING YOU...FROM BEING BORING  
**_Song: Five Minutes To Midnight - Boys Like Girls_

Francis Bonnefoy batted his eyelids as he leaned seductively over a certain British who was busy at work. He sniffed and flicked his perfect golden locks, wafting the scent of lavender all around.

"Come on, _mon cher," _he pleaded, smiling innocently. "You know you want to~"

"How many times do I have to say 'no' until you get it, Bonnefoy?" Arthur Kirkland snapped, getting fed up at the relentless attempts of the French. "I know your scheme tonight, Francis. I am not a poor excuse of a one-night stand."

"_Au contraire!" _Francis exclaimed indignantly, pulling Arthur by his tie until their faces were an inch away. Arthur cringed away, but he held him fast. "I only said a trip, I didn't say anything about sex on the way. Although I can't deny if you're offering~"

"Let go of me!" Arthur screamed, pushing him off and shooing him away. "I have work, you bloody wanker!"

"How do you know that?" Francis asked, surprised.

"We WORK together!"

"Non, non, about the wanking – "

Arthur gave him a disgusted look and shut the door to his office. A moment later five bolts were heard sliding into place, like a bank vault being locked from the inside.

Francis sighed and stroked his chin thoughtfully. Truth be told, he was honest today. He didn't think of doing sex with Arthur (although he had been hinting heavily since the day he laid eyes on the Brit). No, today, he had realized that Arthur was a boring drab, too indulged in work to care. He always drank tea like a sir (Earl Grey with lemon, Francis memorized), was always punctual to boot, always left late at night, and hands his reports to the boss five days early. He shuddered. _People could kill for spare time, and he has all the spare time the world wants, and he wastes them by working. _He shook his head. Something must be done.

"I know you're still there, Bonnefoy," Arthur's muffled voice rang out from the other side of the door.

Francis smirked. "How? Are you spying on me?"

"On the contrary. Your malicious intentions are radiating from underneath the door."

"You are responding, _oui?"_

The Brit fell silent, and Francis could imagine that Arthur was scowling. Ah, how his face contorted in rage, but still be perfect! He sighed dreamily and went off to his own lavishly decorated office desk, humming a tune. He winked at a passing girl – Olivia, was her name? He didn't care anyway – and the girl swooned, practically star struck. He smirked and flicked his locks again, knowing that Olivia's stare was boring on his back, probably memorizing each and every detail of his muscles.

He got a piece of paper, went back to Arthur's door, and slipped it underneath. He thrust his hands deep in his pockets and whistled innocently.

* * *

He didn't know it, but his emerald eyes gleamed in excitement at the paper Bonnefoy had slipped under his door. Arthur grinned maniacally – of a reason he was not familiar of – when he saw the title.

**OCTO-BEER FEST!**

_**COME JOIN THE FUN WITH THE BANDS!**_

_**ONLY FROM OCTOBER 23 TO 26, 2012!**_

Arthur's eyes eagerly roved the band names and felt disappointed. Of course, the producers did not include the big bands who rose to fame before the coming of the new millennium. He folded the flyer into a paper airplane, opened his door, and sent it sailing through the wind, hitting Francis' annoying blond head as he leaned over at a coworker seductively.

"Ow!" Francis squeaked, rubbing his head and glaring at Arthur, who grinned mischievously, his inner pirate activated.

"You gotta bribe me a lot better than that, Bonnefoy." He flipped the bird at him and disappeared inside his door.

* * *

Arthur sighed and waited at the nearest bus stop, waiting for the rain to stop as he checked the hour. It was already past his usual dinner hour, which means he would have to move up his Doctor Who marathon for exactly thirty-five minutes. Not that he cared, since there wasn't anybody who would watch it with him. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, craning to see if any busses were nearby.

_SPLASH!_

Arthur spluttered as water hit him in the face, drenching him top to bottom. When he wiped the water from his eyes, he saw a familiar hot-red Ferrari squeak to a halt a meter away. The window rolled down and music blasted his ears – and also a familiar "Ohohohon~" that made his skin crawl.

"My apologies, mon cher," Francis joked, blowing him a kiss. Arthur was glad he was the only one at the bus stop.

This way he could curse freely.

"YOU BLOODY TWAT!" He roared, stomping over at him and bringing his hand up.

_SMACK!_

Arthur panted hard as Francis blinked, surprise registering on his face. After a few seconds, the French's cheek now had a red hand imprint where Arthur had slapped him.

"I fucking _hate _you," Arthur whispered. " I HATE you! Just LEAVE ME ALONE!" His voice rose to a scream, but something held him back.

"I will not let you go lightly after tarnishing my beautiful face," Francis muttered, gripping Arthur's wrist tightly.

* * *

They drove in silence down the highway, with Francis honking on two ladies donning dangerously low and short apparel as they waited on the sides of the road.

"What about those, mon cher? Lovely wares, no?" He asked to the person in the back seat.

"Mmph!" Arthur responded with a grunt, trying – and failing – to spit out the ball gag stuffed unceremoniously in his mouth by the French. His arms and legs were bound tightly by a special kind of rope unlike the ones commonly seen for practical use. It made him shiver just by thinking how and why Francis had them in his bloody CAR.

_Where the hell are you taking me? _He flashed his green eyes at Francis' blue ones, and Francis raised an eyebrow. "Asking me where to go?"

Arthur jumped in surprise, and the Frenchman giggled. "You are so very predictable, mon cher. Your eyes give away everything." He smirked. "Especially the joy and thrill you feel with being bound and gagged by somebody as sexy as _moi~"_

_THAT IS NOT TRUE! _Arthur struggled against his bonds, and Francis chuckled.

"Best not to stretch those, _mon ami_ – they get tighter if you do."

At that, Arthur remained as still as a statue, making their drive up a hill uneventful. After what seemed like fifteen minutes, Arthur made some whimpering noises. Francis got the ball gag out of his mouth and the Brit sighed.

"Let me out, Francis," he pleaded. "Please. I don't want to…"

"Don't blow my efforts off, _mon cher_," Francis muttered, bringing the Ferrari to a stop at a fenced off area. They were on the top of the hill now, and Arthur recognized this as the Bonnefoy estate. He groaned as the gates swung open, revealing a lavishly decorated mansion. Instead of going in, however, Francis drove the car into a more secluded area – the forest behind the mansion that Francis lovingly called the "back yard".

As Francis finally killed the engine, he cut Arthur's ropes, and the Brit hissed as the blood rushed into his veins again. He rubbed his wrists and sighed. "Why did you take me here, Francis?"

"Fireworks, _mon cher_," Francis answered, picking up a box practically overflowing with pyrotechnics. His eyes twinkled, like he knew a secret Arthur was trying desperately to hide. "Come help me set these up."

Sighing, Arthur got down to business. Not wanting to test Bonnefoy on his ground, he did as he was ordered. They heaved a big picnic table onto the grassy lawn only lit by lanterns here and there along with the moonlight. Francis brought out the wine and Arthur shivered as he strung the small paper lanterns on the light posts. After some time, Francis cursed in French.

"it's already five minutes to midnight! Quick, light the fireworks!" he ordered.

Confused, Arthur lit the propped up fireworks and stepped back. A moment later, the rocket flew up to the dark sky and illuminated it with bright sparks of yellow and orange. His eyes gleamed in joy as a second, third, and fourth rocket followed, making the sky light up like the stars were dancing.

Francis laughed as he watched Arthur jump up and down excitedly, clapping and whooping. The emerald eyes shone brightly, and for once Arthur looked like he was having the best moment of his life.

Francis gave him a glass of white wine, and Arthur drank it, smiling. "Thank you, Bonne… Francis."

"You're welcome, _mon cher,"_ Francis replied, winking. "_Joyeux Anniversaire. _Happy Birthday._"_


End file.
